You're expected to contextualize yourself

Something that troubled me for a long time, but in a vague way where I couldn't put my finger on it, is the pressure that society exerts on people to insert themselves into a specific context. It took into my late 20s before the rough outlines of the problem took shape. Society, it turns out, demands that you define yourself as a bunch of things. You're supposed to be a gender, a race, a religion, a political affialiation, etc.

When I was a teenager, one of the biggest difficulties I faced is that I didn't define myself as anything in particular. I was smart, but I definitely knew I didn't want to be one of the smart kids. If you have any experience of American society, you know that the smart kids are not the place to be. Being a smart kid carries with it a certain aspiration. You're supposed to want to achieve some list of upper middle class things that matter. Good grades. Good college. Good job. Good life.

None of that really rung true for me. I've never enjoyed doing things from a list. I bore too easily for that to work.

I also completely whiffed on the importance of carving out an identity, contextualizing myself. I mean, it literally never crossed my mind that I was supposed to be defining myself when I was growing up. Even now, with an understanding of the idea, it feels very alien to me.

Not just socially alien. I mean, alien in the sense that you would feel extremely fucking stupid if everyone expected you to glue a fake third arm to your torso and use it because that's what they do. It wouldn't matter whether you glued the arm or not. Glue it on, and you'll feel like a fucking idiot because you don't need a third arm, so fuck that. Don't glue it on, and you'll still live with the weird realization that everyone glues on a fake third arm they don't need.

I've never been someone to put on a performance for others. I don't mean that in the sense that people do when they say, "I'm keepin shit real." Keepin it real is just a performance focused on conspicuous authenticity. It's still a performance conducted for the benefit of others in understand how you contextualize yourself in the tribe. You're the realest motherfucker who ever realed. Basically, modern hipsterism.

What always confused me when I was younger, though, was the anger that comes back when you refuse to perform for others. I'm not talking the nee-neener stuff that's typical of dumb human bullying. I'm talking the sub-psychotic rage that people feel when you don't give them an opening to get what they want.

The Contract of Mutual Performance

Part of the implied contract of the great human circlejerk is that I'll perform for you, and you'll perform for me. If I do all the steps to the dance, then I'll get the reward I want.

It's astonishing how embedded this is. You see it when you fail to perform your half of the dance, and that ultimately leads to them being denied the reward they seek. I've seen people literally go into blue screen of death mode. I've seen a lot more of them blow up to try to instigate shit.

The assumption baked into all human interactions is that everyone is involved in a game. If you fail to give someone their reward for playing the game, it's a judgment upon them. Shit doesn't just happen. The net effect is that people get pissed when they don't get theirs, even if you've displayed zero interest in doing the dance with them. It's your job, as a member of a society, to play the game.

What's funny is that human beings don't react by assuming you're an alien to their society. Again, shit doesn't just happen. You've devalidated them, and that triggers a rush of angry emotions.

People will do one of two things:

1) They will try to explain you away, but within a context that suits them.

2) They will get angry.

The funny thing about explaining you away is that the context still has to fit their cultural norms. For example, the guy who doesn't want to fuck the young chick who's offering herself up must be gay. It's not a point up for debate, because the alternative answer is that she isn't as hawt as she thinks herself to be. And . . . well . . . all the guys who've dry humped her leg stand as testament to her hawtness, so . . . fuck that.

As a human being, you're never allowed to exist outside a context. You're supposed to be actively fostering an identity that allows others to trade with you in order to get what they want. It's also understood that you're supposed to be trying to maximize your returns. It's not enough that you might want pussy. You're also expected to maximize the amount and/or quality of pussy you get.

I never understood that as a teenager. Or as a college student. I really only had a vague outline of the idea by my late 20s. It was only in my 30s that I figured it out.

Even when i arrived at a full realization, it was simply a piece of information. I didn't suddenly say, "Huzzah! Now I can slay the pussy!" I definitely understood the implication, and I did act on it when it suited me. I just didn't see it as something that necessarily defined me.

I still don't see anything as defining me, but lack of self-definition isn't acceptable. Again, you're job in contextualizing yourself is to facilitate trade. That includes the trade of your companionship and your seed. You're supposed to leverage whatever you can achieve with your status to breed to the best of your ability. If you don't do that, then you're either gay or . . . well, there isn't another option.

The funny thing with the fixation that people have with assuming a person is gay because of their non-responsiveness is that it still assumes you're open to trade. In other words, the underpinning logic is that the rejected woman simply failed to bring the right goods for trade. If she had the right goods for trade, then you would've activated and sex would've ensued.

FTR, I say from personal experience that it takes a while to fully exhaust this logic. I can remember being out in a very seedy underground nightclub a little over a year ago, and I just wasn't feeling it. A lot of time I just get out to get out. Sometimes the best cure to the blahs is to just go do anything, even if you're not going out with intent.

This guy who I kinda half-recognized from being around the same scene a few times decided to chat me up. To be clear, he was what I can only politely call obviously gay. I'm arrogant enough that just because I'm not gonna fuck you doesn't mean I won't drop a little aloof game on you just for the joy of emotional sadism.

I told him upfront I was straight, because there's really nothing that amps the feeling of emotional sadism up like watching a person bash their head against the wall against all reason. Don't get me wrong; I get why he thought it was worth a try. I wasn't feeling it in a dark room full of barely clothed women who were writhing all night. It's hard for me to ever put my finger on what precisely clicks for me with a chick. I just know when it happens.

I can't particularly remember the guy's sales pitch, except for some sort of creepy guy game he dropped in the form of "You know you're a very good-looking person." Like I'm supposed to be just so flattered that suddenly I'm going to fuck him after ignoring his advances. He eventually gets tired of failing and leaves well enough alone. By most standards, a slightly sad-for-him but whatever ending. He took his shot, so yay champ.

Therein lies my point. It always takes a long time for people to just give up and leave me be.

I cannot for the life of me tell you why sometimes the switch just trips on. I just know that the bulk of the time that it doesn't switch on, no matter how much futile social dancing you do to induce me to trade. The irony here being that physical dancing very much improves your odds. It's worth a try.

What depresses me a bit about human existence is knowing that I'll be subjected to anger for not wanting to contextualize myself in a way that facilitates sex. If I'm lucky, I might be subjected to being asked if I'm asexual. I'm not, but I at least respect the rare person who can be bothered to think outside the box.

In truth, I'm just so very bored. An occasional woman comes along who's exciting enough to cut through that boredom, and there's a good chance I might fuck her. Most people, though, are dreadfully boring, and I get far more entertainment out of watching them contort themselves trying to get my attention.

Written by women, for women

If you read the blog much, you know I have a lot of misgivings about politics. More accurately, I have misgivings about politicization. Politics, I suppose, is just an extension of humans humaning. I pretty much skipped 2016 and 2017 because of the US election and the whole Donald Trump thing, though you can watch me try to handle my gag reflex over the coming right-wing, male shitnado from back in January of 2015.

I suppose I should've had some thoughts on the inevitable left-wing, female counter-reaction of 2017 and 2018, but I was just keeping my head down trying not to get sprayed in shit. Seriously, people suck in as many directions as there are on an eleven-dimensional compass. Who knew?

If you keep up with the confluence of American pop culture and politics, you've probably caught the revenge porn-y story of Aziz Ansari, a dopey manlet of a half-comedian whose virtue signaling attempts at feminism pretty much prepositioned him for a shit sandwich. (I don't really hate the guy, but goddamn is his comedy lame. He did do a joke about a sweater that was good, though, so there's that. I really don't get the whole attentionwhore-industrial complex at all.)

Imaginably, this led to whatever passes for soul searching these days. You know, motherfuckers creating clickbait from every angle and seeing which angle agitates the most clicks. There was the genre of "creepy/lame is as bad as rape, and every allegation should treated as gospel". (No it isn't, and OMFG what happened to due process?!?!) There was the genre of "Oh, this counter-reactionary shit is going too far." (Probably, but such is the nature of cultural reactions, counter-reactions, and over-reactions. I mean, Hollywood isn't exactly turning into Romania after the fall of communism.)

Then there was my favorite: the "Is our boys learnin?" genre.

The one that actually tipped me over into writing an article was this one: When Pop Culture Sells Dangerous Myths About Romance.

It actually starts out with a pretty good case. Fundamentally it boils down to "Say Anything" is a creepy fuck movie, and it's romanticization is dumb and wrong.

But, from the beginning there are references that piss me off. Specifically, the idea that the disgusting pop culture trash that women produce for women somehow informs the rape-y-ness of guys. You know what I'm talking about. 50 Shades of Grey. Twilight. Gossip Girl.

It's not the majority of the rape culture playlist, but it's definitely worth asking an important question: why the fuck do women like rape-y stories so much?

I'm a believer that the common female fantasy is the product of a desire to be desired. There's even a bit of a humblebrag component there. It basically translates to, "I'm so fuckin hawt that guy was ready to rape me."

It doesn't change the fact, however, that some of the most questionable rape culture artifacts are aimed at women as the primary consumers. Guys didn't learn anything from the movie Say Anything because they stopped paying attention to the plot fifteen minutes in.

Worse, some of the rape-y-est shit is written by women, for women. I mean, EL James read Twilight and pretty much said, "Oh, you think your gross stalker story was rape-y? Hold my fuckin beer. I'm gonna write some full-on dubious consent porn fanfic that includes relentless acts of emotional sadism and irregular deviations from an established model of affirmative consent. Poorly. Very poorly. Daringly poorly."

It's mind blowing. Frankly, feminism needs to get its house the fuck in order. Or face the fact that there's something really deep-down fucking dark in women's souls that's attracted to aggressive sexual predation.

If I saw someone constantly feasting on shit and always finding ways to only dine at places that served actual human feces, I would assume that person has some form of coprophagia. I would assume, despite any protests to the contrary, that their relentless consumption of actual shit was a demonstration of a love for eating shit. Because seriously, who complains about eating shit and then demands that they be served shit that was prepared by other shit eaters?

In the whole #MeToo movement, there's a lot of truth. I mean, even hardcore Red Pill gamers would acknowledge that jerking off into a potted plant in front of an actress is probably not even Plan Z, let alone Plan A. Or that it's even a plan as much as a gross reaction to having your plan stunted before it could bloom into whatever dubious consent scenario you were hoping for as the person with all the power. It's the sort of profound truth that shouldn't be profound, but apparently is for some guys. Again, humans suck in more directions than three-dimensional space can accurately describe.

Once you start trending into the Aziz Ansari territory, especially equating him to Harvey Weinstein, I'm out. Fuck you. That shit was revenge porn.

And do we really need to reframe the story as an object lesson in how boys are learning the wrong things?

Also, who the fuck thinks that any straight boys were watching Say Anything? Trust me, they were watching Fight Club and dreaming of the day they could find a hawt goth chick and fuck here like Tyler Durden. Seriously, it's literally written all over the PUA blogs. There was even a modestly famous PUA who went by the handle of Tyler Durden.

I mean, if you're gonna discuss heteronormative male sexuality, it might be instructive to start by looking at heteronormative male sexuality. Cuz talking about Say Anything and a bunch of whiny love songs is actually studying products that we manufactured for heteronormatively female consumers.

But that's not what we're doing. It seems that women don't even have the cultural vocabulary to describe how men see sex. Apparently women really are from Omicron Persei 7 and men are from Omicron Persei 9.

Conversely, men I don't think even have the right anatomical charts in their heads to describe the female experience. Seriously, there are right now a bunch of Jesus-y Mike Pence motherfuckers running around this world objecting to the use of birth control while not realizing precisely why they don't 20 children. (Hint: it's birth control.)

The problem is that rewarding aggression essentially triggers compound interest. If you reward one sexually aggressive man, you can expect two more to appear. And women reward male sexual aggression. In fact, they write Homeric epics about it.

If you think about it from an evolutionary standpoint, what is the downside for the Y chromosome in being sexually aggressive? If you're hot and it works, congratulations on being hot. If you're hideous and it fails, well it was at least worth a try because you're unfuckably hideous. (And you can apparently always just release your pent up tension into a potted plant. Again, who knew?)

One of the biggest reasons so many guys think all feminism is bullshit is because women are, frankly, sitting on the wrong side of the old "physician heal thyself" invocation. Women treat everything as an externality. The title of Hillary Clinton's book after she lost the 2016 election was "What Happened?"

I talked a bit about this problem three years ago on the blog. I will now crassly quote myself because I have fucking earned the right to do so . . .

For women life is something that happens to them.

Women seem to collectively refuse to take responsibility for their own sexuality, even a solid 50 years into the supposed sexual revolution. Everything in the world is a set of externalities acting upon them. There's never a point where women ask themselves, "Why do we consume so much pop culture materials that is seriously rape-y AF?" Women never ask themselves serious questions about their own romanticization of rape. Instead, they pretend that hetero boys actually watched Say Anything and took away a lesson from it. (They didn't, and they didn't. Again, they were watching Fight Club. I cannot emphasize that strongly enough.)

Women like men who treat women like dirt. I mean, there's a fuckin reason that Pride and Prejudice is one of the most republished and repurposed more than anything in the English language outside of Shakespeare and the Bible. Women get wet for Mr. Darcy, and I probably should be concerned that they also get wet for Christian Grey. (Hmmm . . . what's the commoanlity?) Ladies sure seem to like their emotional sadism and dubious consent, yesno?

Until women can explain with a straight face why they so thoroughly enjoy literature that involves hot rich guys treating them like utter dogshit, they're not going to be taken seriously. So . . . what I'm actually saying is that women will never be taken seriously, because treating women like dogshit is pretty much the same as giving hydrocodone to a fentanyl junkie: deep down they wish you'd give them even harder shit to get fucked up on.

Until women are willing to cross the Rubicon into city of their own desires, they're not going to come up the winners in this fight. As the leading consumers of rape fantasy porn, it's on women to embargo themselves.